


Betwixt

by Robottko



Series: Love Me to Death [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Crushes, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Ghosts, Haunting, M/M, Teenlock, ghostlock, mediator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-14
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-02-08 19:14:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1952859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robottko/pseuds/Robottko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>betwixt (bɪˈtwɪkst)</i><br/>— prep , — adv<br/>1.	archaic another word for between<br/>2.	betwixt and between in an intermediate, indecisive, or middle position</p><p> </p><p>  <i>[Old English betwix ; related to Old High German zwiski two each]</i></p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Being new to London is always hard, but seventeen year old John Watson has bigger things to worry about. There's an angry ghost roaming the school, trying to kill his still-living boyfriend, who just so happens to have taken a liking to John himself. And if a jealous ghost wasn't bad enough, there's an 18th century Frenchman by the name of Sherlock that's haunting his bedroom, and he's far too attractive for his own good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> betwixt (bɪˈtwɪkst)  
> — prep , — adv  
> 1\. archaic another word for between  
> 2\. betwixt and between in an intermediate, indecisive, or middle position
> 
> [Old English betwix ; related to Old High German zwiski two each]
> 
>  
> 
> Based on Meg Cabot's "Mediator" series.

“Here y’are.” The greasy man driving the taxi said as they pulled to a stop on Baker Street, turning around to give the father and son a grin. “Two-two-one, Baker Street. That’ll be sixty.”

“Sixty quid?” David Watson cried at the outrage, but his seventeen year old son was already out of the taxi, unloading the boxes out of the boot. As they haggled over price, John took the opportunity to look around, admiring the sights.

“You’ll love it here, Johnny.” A feminine voice said from behind him, and John turned quickly, a smile on his face. “You’ve always wanted to live in London.”

“Hello, mum.” John chuckled. “Yeah, London has always been a dream of mine, but I _had_ hoped you would be joining us.”

“I _am_ joining you, you silly boy.” Ann Watson said, smoothing John’s hair down. “I’m just not as…alive as we would have hoped.”

Ann Watson had died in a car accident over a year ago. While it had been tragic, John hadn’t been able to shed a tear at her funeral, because he knew he would be seeing his mother again.

John Watson was a mediator. Not only could he see the dead, but he could talk and touch them as well, a fact that got him into a lot of trouble in his old school. He had discovered this ability at the tender age of five when his grandfather showed up in his room. He had excitedly ran down the hall, grandpa in tow, to show his parents who had come to visit, but they couldn’t see him. Grandpa had smiled at John sadly, then promptly vanished. He figured out very quickly that he should keep that particular ability a secret.

Of course, it was harder to keep his secret from the ghosts that haunted his town. Stare at one too long, and they’re jumping up and down, haunting you until you figured out how to send them off to the afterlife. Sometimes it took a good arse-kicking to get them to leave you alone, in which something would inevitably end up breaking.

“What do you think?” The voice of his father distracted him, and he looked over to see that his father looking a bit disgruntled. The cabbie, on the other hand, looked beyond pleased. It was obvious to see who had won _that_ particular argument. “We’re on the upper floors. Flat B.”

“It’s nice.” John commented, peering up at the upstairs windows. “Small, but we don’t need anything bigger, now that Harry’s off to Uni.”

“Yeah…” David sighed. After a moment, he looked over at John, worry etched on his face. “Do you think we made the right decision?”

“Mom would want us to be happy.” John said knowledgably.

“Don’t be silly, David.” Ann said, though she knew her husband couldn’t hear her. “Of course you made the right decision. Who on earth did you think left those real estate pamphlets on your desk?”

John worked to mask his smile as he watched his dad, who nodded sadly. “You’re right, as always. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“You’d be fine.” John said, grabbing the last box out of the boot, then closing it with a slam. The cabbie took this as permission to leave, and he quickly ambled off. “Let’s get all this stuff upstairs.”

As David went to rap on the door, Ann pulled her son aside, smoothing his hair once again. “You’ll have a wonderful time in London, sweetheart.” She said. “Just you wait and see. Hopefully your father will be happier here than in our ghastly house.”

“I hope so.” John said softly. “Hopefully I’ll be able to maintain a reputation that isn’t ‘weirdo’ or ‘freak’ here. I plan on keeping ghostly activities to a minimum.”

“If I had known that all those bruises and cuts came from ghosts and not fights-” Ann began, promptly cut off by her son.

“You wouldn’t have believed me. No one did, you know. It’s fine.”

“I’m so sorry, darling.”

“Not your fault.” John chuckled. “Some ghosts didn’t want to move on, and got a bit physical when I made them. Hopefully I can keep myself off their radar here. No ghost hunting for me.”

Ann smiled, pressing a kiss to John’s cheek.

“Come on, John!” David called, and John turned to look, surprised to see a smiling woman around his dad’s age standing there, smiling cheerfully.

“Yoo-hoo!” She called, waving at him. “You must be John!”

“Yeah.” John said, walking up to her and shaking her hand. “John Watson. It’s nice to meet you ma’am.”

“Mrs Hudson, dear.” She hummed, welcoming them in. The landing was small, and John could see a small staircase leading up to what he assumed would be their flat. “Just up this way! Come along!”

“Will we be meeting Mr Hudson anytime soon?” David asked conversationally, something that seemed to amuse Mrs Hudson.

“No, dear. Mr Hudson died a few years back. Oh, no condolences needed, he wasn’t a very nice man.” Mrs Hudson explained. “I married him young. I was probably about John’s age when we married. My unmarried name was Sissons, but it didn’t seem right to go back to it…here we are!”

The door opened to a cosy lounge lined with busy wallpaper. Two mismatched chairs sat in front of the fireplace, and a leather sofa took up half of the opposite wall. John felt instantly at home.

“There’s a room at the end of the hall over there.” Mrs Hudson said, gesturing past the kitchen. “And another room upstairs.”

“I call the downstairs room.” John said, carrying his box and placing it in front of the door. His dad just laughed, spreading his arms wide in surrender.

“I’ll take the upstairs room, then. Thank you so much, Martha.”

“Of course, dear.” Mrs Hudson giggled, patting David on the arm. “I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.”

John watched Mrs Hudson leave, waiting until he heard her heels at the bottom of the stairs before turning to his father.

“Martha?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. David said nothing, but John could detect a hint of red on his cheeks before he answered gruffly.

“Come on, let’s get the rest of these boxes into the flat. They won’t carry themselves, you know.”

 

\--

 

It didn’t take them very long to carry their belongings upstairs. The Watson men had never been much for a plethora of belongings. Anything they didn’t need, or that didn’t have sentimental value, was left in their old house for the new owners to have.

Unpacking, however, took ages, and by the time they were done, John was exhausted. He wiped the sweat from his brow, looking around at the lounge of their new flat with a smile. Mum was nowhere to be seen, but that was hardly out of the ordinary. She spent time visiting other members of the family, checking to make sure they were alright.

“I have school in the morning.” John said, yawning. “I’m going to head to bed.”

“Night, John.” David replied, smiling at his son. “Sleep well.”

“I will.” John waved goodnight to his father, heading to his room. He opened the door for the first time, carrying his unpacked box and setting it down with an almighty thump. He turned around, barely remembering to stifle a shout when he saw someone already sitting in his bed, reading what looked like a century’s old book. John thanked the heavens that he didn’t yell; the translucent skin and 18th century garb told him everything he needed to know.

“Who the hell are you, and why are you here?” John finally hissed, glaring at the ghost who was haunting his room.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie, I don't normally update a fic as fast as I did this one, but I really wanted to give you guys a little Sherlock time, and a taste of Johniarty. (If you're reading for the MorMor, I am so sorry. It's mostly onesided in this fic.)

If John hadn’t been so annoyed, the sight of a ghost jumping in shock might have been hilarious. The ghost stared wide-eyed at him in shock, his book falling out of his hands and flopping onto the floor.

“You can see me?” He asked, his lightly accented voice soft. It was a deeper sound than John was expecting, and it took him a few seconds to recover.

“Yeah, I can see you.” John said, rolling his eyes. “And you’re on my bed, in my room.”

“But how can you see me?” The ghost asked, standing up slowly, as if _John_ was the one that had the ability to vanish. “Living people can’t see me.”

“Well, this one can.” John sighed, rolling his eyes. “I can also punch you if need be, so stop ignoring my questions.”

“My name is Sherlock.” The ghost said, studying him. “And this is _my_ room, actually.”

“Was your room.” John replied. “John Watson, and this room is mine now, and I don’t very much want to share with a ghost.”

“ _Jean.”_  Sherlock repeated in his accented English, and now that John was listening, it was obvious that he was French. “While you may not wish to share with me, I have no intentions of leaving. I’ve been here over two hundred years. I rather like this room.”

John sighed, watching Sherlock straighten his shoulders. He wasn’t terrible looking, that was true. Sherlock couldn’t have been much older than him when he died, and it was obvious he took pride in his appearance. A long black coat draped over an ornamented silver waistcoat. Black breeches fit snugly against his thighs, making the white stockings on his calves pop tastefully. Even his shoes were shined to perfection.

“Lord, I didn’t want to have to deal with a stubborn ghost on my first day in London.” John sighed to himself before addressing Sherlock. “Listen, you’re not meant to be here. You’re supposed to…er…go on, or whatever it is people do after they die.”

“Even if I wanted to ‘go on’, I cannot.” Sherlock shrugged, whirling away from John and walking to the window. “Unfinished business and all that nonsense.”

“Sometimes unfinished business can be taken care of with a good smack to the face.” John muttered under his breath.

“ _mon Dieu_.” Sherlock huffed. “Are all you ‘mediators’ so violent?”

“Nah,” John grinned. “You just got lucky enough to be stuck with me.”

“Well, _Jean,_ I am afraid to say that I will not be leaving.” Sherlock returned his grin with a smirk of his own. “So you are lucky enough to be stuck with _me._ Do not worry, I’ll avoid your room while you’re sleeping.”

John ran a hand over his face before jumping into bed with his clothes still on. He was unsurprised to find the book that had fallen to the floor completely gone. Ghost books, while ridiculous, were not uncommon. “I’ll find your unfinished business. I always do.”

“That I don’t doubt.” Sherlock chuckled. “Sleep well, _mon hérisson._ I shall see you in the morning.”

John must have been more tired than he thought, for he never even thought to ask what Sherlock had called him before he fell unconscious.

 

\--

 

John woke up nearly two hours earlier than he intended, and he groaned, rubbing his eyes with his fists. He was exhausted, and finding out you’re sharing a room with a ghost was never fun. Sure, he had had ghosts popping in on him when he was living in his family’s old house, but at least his room was his own.

Ten minutes later John crawled out of bed, making his way to the bathroom. He quickly showered and brushed his teeth, and, feeling more human than he had since yesterday, re-entered his room with just a towel around his waist. He had to remember to stifle his shout when he saw Sherlock sitting on his bed once more.

“ _Bonjour, Jean_.” Sherlock greeted. “I trust you slept well?”

“Why are you here?” John groaned, trying not to feel too exposed in his towel.

“I live here.” Sherlock replied innocently, which earned him a glare. “Well, when I say live…”

“Hilarious.” John said. “Now leave.”

“ _Jean_ , I already said that-”

“Not what I meant.” John rolled his eyes. “Just…fine, turn around or something.”

Sherlock’s face broke into a smirk, something that John was fairly confident he would see often. With a gesture of surrender, Sherlock turned, and John took the opportunity to swiftly pull on some jeans and a jumper.

“Right. Done.”

“You are _timide,_ _hérisson.”_ Sherlock chuckled, turning back around and letting out a sort of choking noise at what John was wearing.

“First of all, I don’t know French.” John muttered, crossing his arms over his chest. “Second of all…what is with the dramatics?”

“ _timide,_ it means…shy, timid. What on _earth_ are you wearing?” Sherlock sounded affronted.

“It’s a jumper, you berk.” John replied, tugging at the oatmeal fabric uncomfortably. “And I happen to like it, thank you very much.”

“It’s hideous.”

“Ta for that.” John rolled his eyes. “I’m not taking fashion advice from a two hundred year old dead guy.”

“More is the pity.” Sherlock shook his head gravely. “I may be dead, but at least I know a hideous outfit when I see one.”

“And on that note, I’m leaving.” John said, leaving his room, grabbing his rucksack on the way out.

“Where are you going?” Sherlock asked, following John through the kitchen.

“To school?” John raised an eyebrow. “Why, do you want to come?”

“And deal with idiots?” Sherlock scoffed. “ _Non merci_. I shall see you when you come back. I have things to do.”

“If any of those things include my jumpers, you can forget about it.” John warned. Sherlock didn’t answer him. He merely laughed, then vanished like a puff of smoke. John groaned, running a hand through his hair as he stared at the spot Sherlock had been just a moment ago. Sherlock was…charming, to say the least. If he didn’t watch out, he might actually find himself _enjoying_ his company.

 

\--

 

It didn't take John long to walk to his new school, and he tried to relax as he saw other students arriving as well. He was early, but apparently he wasn't the only one. 

After stopping by the main office to grab his information packet, (a bright green packet with 'St. Bartholomew's Academy stamped on the front) he milled around, trying to get his bearings. The college wasn't overly large or anything, but it would still be easy to get lost if he wasn't paying attention.

Of course, it was always important to pay attention all the time, a fact John had to apparently learn the hard way. With his nose buried in his map, he didn’t notice the other person in front of him until it was far too late. He collided with a boy slightly taller than himself, sending them both sprawling to the floor.

“Ow. Christ, sorry!” John said, rubbing the shoulder he fell on.

“Would you watch where you’re- Oh, hello.” A soft voice with an Irish accent said, angry tirade softening into a more polite tone. John looked up to see a boy with black hair and dark brown eyes surveying him with interest.

“Hello.” John replied, giving him an apologetic smile, which was promptly returned. “I am so sorry. I’m new here, and I wasn’t watching where I was going and-”

“Really, it’s no trouble at all.” The other boy interrupted, waving his hand as if to brush John’s apologies aside. “It gives me ample opportunity to use terrible pick-up lines about you falling for me and whatnot.”

John laughed, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. “Right, of course. I’m John Watson, by the way.” He removed his hand that was on his neck, holding it out for the other boy to shake.

“Jim Moriarty. Hi.” The boy said, grabbing his hand and shaking it enthusiastically. “A pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise, I’m sure.” John said. It was at that moment that something caught his eye. Without thinking, he turned to scold Sherlock for following him to school, but it was obvious right away that the ghost standing there wasn’t Sherlock. The ghost was tall, most likely taller than Sherlock. His hair was blond, artfully mussed, and he wore ripped jeans that were more of this century than the breeches of Sherlock’s. The real difference, however, was the look on his face. The rage and jealousy as he stared at the two of them would be unfathomable on Sherlock’s face.

This was the ghost of a jealous ex-boyfriend, John was sure, and he had just gotten in the middle of everything.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On this day, August 31st, in 1990, a child by the name of Robottko was born. It was decreed that every year on her birthday, she shall update every fanfiction that is a WIP. So, it is with great honor that I present to you this update.

After the incident with Jim Moriarty, and his crazy ghost, John kept his head down. He made his way to his first class, sitting down in an open desk. The boy in front of John turned around, giving him an appraising look before shaking his hand.

“Billy Murray.” He said cheerfully. “You’re new here.”

“John Watson. Is it that obvious?” John smiled wryly.

“A bit, yeah.” Bill chuckled, “Your schedule is practically crumpled in your hand.”

“Well, I _literally_ ran into someone in the hallway,” John replied. “And I’m still a bit...er…shaken.”

“Who was it?” Bill asked, his eyebrow raised questioningly.

“His name is Jim Moriarty.”

Bill let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “He’s got a thing for blonds, let me tell you. I figured he would have waited longer after the death of his boyfriend before pursuing someone, though.”

“He wasn’t pursuing me.” John insisted. “A bit flirtatious, I suppose, but nothing untoward. When did he boyfriend die?”

“Six months ago.” Bill replied, looking as if he didn’t believe what John had told him. “His name was Sebastian Moran, and he and Moriarty had been dating for years.”

“What happened to him?”

“Motorcycle accident, from what I heard.” Bill said. “Apparently Sebastian was riding, and had too many to drink, and he ran off the road. Jim was with him when it happened, but he came away with only a few scratches.”

“Really? That’s horrible!” John gasped.

“It really is.” Bill agreed. “Jim and Sebastian were good together, you know.”

John hummed in agreement, falling silent as the professor entered the room. Jim and Sebastian might have been good together, but it seemed that Sebastian wasn’t quite ready to let go just yet.

 

* * *

 

 

The day crept by, and John was pleased to discover that he shared just about every class with Bill. However, during the last class of the day, Bill was nowhere to be found, so John sat towards the back of the classroom by himself. As he was pulling out a notebook, someone plopped down next to him, and John looked up, surprised when he saw Jim Moriarty sitting next to him.

“Hello there.” John said, glancing around for Jim’s crazy ghost boyfriend, happy when he didn’t see him.

“Hi.” Jim grinned at him. “I had been hoping I would see you sometime today. We share last class!”

John laughed at Jim’s infectious good cheer. “That we do. I just hope it goes quickly.”

“Wanting to stop talking to me already?” Jim teased.

“Not at all.” John shook his head. “I’m just ready to go home and relax.”

Jim opened his mouth to respond, but was stopped by the professor entering the classroom. He shot John an apologetic smile, then turned to focus on the book he had set in front of himself. The class was long, and John could feel Jim’s eyes on him every minute or so. It was highly distracting, but in a good way. When the class finally ended, John gathered up his books with an audible sigh, stuffing them into his rucksack and heading out the door.

“Leaving so soon?” Jim followed him out the door, and John turned to look at him, a small smile on his face.

“Home, remember?” John reminded Jim.

“Oh, that’s right. Well, I was going to suggest that you come over to my house instead.” Jim grinned cheekily. It was John’s luck that Sebastian would choose that moment to appear, a look of murderous rage on his face.

“Right, I dunno…”

“Oh, come on.” Jim huffs, a pretty pout on his face. “It’ll be fun, I promise. I’ll try not to flirt too much, I promise.”

John can’t stop the blush that spread across his cheeks like wildfire, and Jim’s smile widened in triumph, fingers lacing through John’s quickly. John ignored the knuckle cracking coming from Sebastian, wondering how long  he would have before the need to exorcize Sebastian Moran became too great.

“Really, I still have to unpack.” John said, thinking of a lie as quickly as possible. Well, it wasn’t a complete lie. “And my dad will want to know how my first day was and all…”

If John thought his day couldn’t get any worse, he was wrong. Sure, the dead ex-boyfriend of Jim might be standing right behind him, but looking up to see Sherlock standing in front of him, fingers still laced with Jim’s, made things so much worse.

John pulled his hand out of Jim’s grasp, not looking at anyone as he mumbled a quick goodbye, heading out the door.

“Why were you holding hands with that boy, _Jean_?” Sherlock asked, causing John to jump slightly.

“He grabbed my hand,” John replied.

“He was flirting with you, _non_? Sherlock mumbled.

“Maybe.” John said. “Does that make you jealous or something?”

“Jealous?” Sherlock sounded affronted. “Why would I be jealous, _hérisson_?”

“I don’t know, why are you _acting_ jealous?” John countered, feeling a bit childish. “And, furthermore…”

John trailed off as Sherlock walked over to him, his eyes filled with determination. The man was graceful even when upset, and it was really unfair.

“No, you do not get to bring our room into this.” Sherlock said, correctly guessing John’s failed argument.

“It’s not our-”

“Yes it is.” Sherlock said, a smug look on his face. “And you enjoy my presence, do you not?”

“You’re not unbearable.” John admitted.

“Then I will stay.” Sherlock brushed his greatcoat, silver waistcoat flashing in the sun. “But you must be careful around strange boys, especially ones that have a jealous ghost following them.”

“So who are you giving this advice to?” John snorted. “Jim or I? Because we both seem to have the same predicament.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, vanishing on John without another word. John gritted his teeth, stomping home as he mentally cursed Sherlock.

Ghosts: Can’t live with them, can’t get them to leave. Unfortunately, John couldn’t even get himself to _want_ Sherlock to leave.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's my birthday and I'll cry if I want to. You would cry too if you _forgot to update your fics for two freaking years..._

John hadn't seen Sherlock at all the night before, so it came as a surprise to wake up to him sitting on the end of his bed.

" _Bonjour, Jean_." Sherlock said as soon as John opened his eyes. "I trust you slept well."

"Yeah," John agreed, clutching at his chest to calm his racing heart. "Waking up, though..."

"Excellent," Sherlock interrupted. "You shouldn't go to school today."

"I...what?" John frowned, sitting up so he could better see Sherlock. "Sherlock, it's only the second day. I  _have_ to go."

"Not if you're in danger," Sherlock replied. "That  _branleur_ is planning something."

"The what?" John asked in confusion.

"That ghost boy that was following you," Sherlock said. "He looked practically murderous, and I don't think it's wise for you to be around him."

"I've dealt with angry ghosts before," John shrugged, sliding out of bed and stretching. "One tried to push me out a window once. I'll be fine."

“But,  _Jean_ -"

"No," John interrupted. "I'm not going to let one ghost keep me away from school, especially when I haven't done anything wrong."

"You are stubborn," Sherlock groused. 

"Part of my natural charm," John replied cheerfully. 

"Fine, if you won't stay away from school, the least you can do is stay away from that boy," Sherlock said.

"Jim?" John asked, raising an eyebrow. "I haven't actually been pursuing him. That's all on his end."

"You were holding hands,  _hérisson_ ,” Sherlock said accusingly.

"He grabbed my hand, and I let it go," John corrected. "Anyway, why do you care if I hold some other blokes hand?"

"I don't care about that," Sherlock said haughtily. "I'm just concerned that you're going to go and get yourself killed by some idiot, and then you'll be stuck here forever."

"Thank you so much for your concern of my welfare," John snorted. "On that note, get out. I need to change."

With a roll of his eyes, Sherlock disappeared, and John's room was blissfully silent.

 

* * *

 

 

The day passed in relative normality, or as normal as one can get when they can see ghosts. John was almost disappointed something  _hadn't_ happened, for all the fuss Sherlock had made that morning.

In fact, John had barely seen Jim all day. He figured (rather irrationally) that Jim was avoiding him, until Sebastian cornered him later that afternoon.

John was washing his hands after using the toilet when he happened to catch sight of Sebastian in the mirror. He sighed lightly, checking quickly to make sure that the toilet was empty before rounding on Sebastian.

"Okay, look. You've got to stop." John said, amused as Sebastian's eyes widened in surprise.

"You can see me," Sebastian said, "I knew I wasn't going crazy when you looked at me yesterday!"

"Yeah, lucky me," John muttered. "You need to stop haunting your ex-boyfriend. It's getting creepy."

"Don't worry, you won't see me for much longer," Sebastian said, a look crossing his face that made John's stomach turn to ice. "I know how to take care of my  _boyfriend_."

John frowned at the way he stressed boyfriend, as if they were still dating. "Look, you need to move on. This isn't good for you."

"I'm waiting," Sebastian said, "I can't leave without Jim."

Before John could say another word, Sebastian vanished, leaving only the faint smell of his cologne.

John groaned, rubbing his hand over his face. How do you tell someone that their dead boyfriend is planning on killing them?

 

* * *

 

 

John didn't have to wait long until Sebastian put his plan into action. 

It was only two hours later when John caught sight of Jim Moriarty. Classes were done for the day, and Jim had managed to get out of the building before John, weaving between the students expertly. John watched him from his view at the top of the school's lobby stairs. It was just as Jim stepped into the street that he saw it.

A cab was speeding down the road, going much faster than John had ever seen. He glanced at the driver, his stomach dropping when he saw Sebastian Moran sitting behind the wheel, eyes fixed on Jim. 

"Shit." John leaped down the flight of stairs, breaking out into a full run. His heart raced as he tried to dart around the other students, bumping into a few on occasion.

"Jim!" John cried out. "Watch out!"

Jim turned to look, a small smile crossing his face at the sight of John, which then fell off his face as John ran straight into him, knocking him out of the way of the cab. John managed to twist them just in time so that their shoulders scrapped against the pavement.

"You okay?" John hissed, as he assessed the damaged to his shoulder. Bleeding and bruised, but at least both their skulls remained intact. 

"We have to stop meeting like this," Jim teased, sounding out of breath. "What was the matter?"

"Cab," John explained, unwinding his arms from Jim's. "It was going to hit you."

A screech of tyres grabbed John's attention, and he looked up to see the cab wheeling around and racing at them once more.

"God, not again." John groaned, grabbing Jim's lapels and tugged him into a standing position.  "Come on!"

Jim swayed a bit in place, and John wrapped an arm around his waist to keep him upright. This only served to annoy Sebastian, and he picked up the speed.

John pulled Jim out of the way just in time, sending Sebastian crashing into a lamppost. He could hear the car trying to reverse, but it seemed like Sebastian had gotten the car good and stuck. With one last glare and a two fingered salute, Sebastian vanished, and the car went dead. 

"You saved me twice there, Johnny boy," Jim said, looking impressed. "Thank you."

"Yeah, well, I also scrapped up your shoulder," John said.

"And yours too," Jim pointed out. "You're a regular hero."

"You're an  _imbécile_ ," The sound of Sherlock's voice made John jump, and he turned to look at his ghostly roommate.

Sherlock stood there, looking intimidating in the bright afternoon sunlight. The light that shone through his translucent body made the silver of his waistcoat gleam brightly. His arms were crossed tightly in front of his chest, and his eyes were narrowed in anger. John swallowed nervously, averting his eyes.

"John, you okay?" Jim asked, squeezing his shoulders with an arm that had somehow wrapped around him during the action.

"I...yeah. I just have to get going." John said, ignoring the people that had stopped to watch the drama unfold.

"I'm pretty sure we'll have to give statements to the police," Jim said, looking amused. "And I still have to thank my hero somehow. Perhaps a date?"

"Sure, yeah. A date would be fantastic," John agreed, a small smile forming at the loud scoff from Sherlock. 

"Great!" Jim said. "I'll be right back, I just have to pick up my rucksack from the street."

John removed his arm from around Jim, watching as he walked away. As Jim past Sherlock, he shifted slightly, as if avoiding the touch of the ghost. 

"What did I tell you,  _Jean_?" Sherlock asked as Jim walked away. "That Sebastian is dangerous, and you flirting with his boyfriend is not helping matters."

"I didn't realise saving someone's life was considered flirting," John said, rolling his eyes. 

"No, but going on a date with them is considered flirting," Sherlock huffed. 

"I don't see what the problem is," John said. "I'm not dating anyone."

"The problem is that he has a murderous ex-boyfriend," Sherlock said. "And I'd rather keep you alive, if it's all the same to you."

"Yeah, right." John said, "Don't want to be stuck with me for an eternity, got the message already. It's like having an obnoxious guardian angel."

"I'm hardly an angel,  _hérisso_ _n_." Sherlock said. 

"Neither am I," John said. "Which is why I figure I can see ghosts, so I can be the bad guy."

"What do you mean,  _Jean_?" 

"I'm going to have to exorcise Sebastian Moran," John said.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [tumblr](http://robottko.tumblr.com/) for more ficlets, funny cats, and to appease the internet overlords


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